Batman: The Series
by Kormiak Rue
Summary: My own imagining of the Batman universe, in a gritty, realistic style.  Warning Gore, Language and possible Adult Situations.
1. Episode 1

BATMAN: THE SERIES.

EPISODE ONE:

RED HOOD.

Jack stood in the rain, looking up at his place of employment, Axis Chemicals. He probably wouldn't be working there much longer. Thomas Caberelli, "Laughin' Tommy" to his associates, stood in front of him, smiling, while his two thugs stood on either side of Jack, threateningly. It all started a week ago, when he was leaving the plant, they shanghaied him, and told him what would happen. He would help them into the plant to steal the payroll, and take the fall by pretending to be their fictional leader, the Red Hood, or they would kill his family. He had no choice, so now he reached back and pulled the deep, velveteen hood of the red cloak they had given him, worn over a tuxedo, up over his head, hiding his features. Hopefully, nothing would go wrong, and he could go back to his family. But he didn't hold much hope in that. He was not an imposing man; at six foot, and 160lbs, he was of average height and a little over average weight. His face was the most notable thing about him, with angular features including a beaky nose, pointed chin, and sharp cheekbones; he had been compared to Sherlock Holmes. This was offset however by a receding hairline of light brown that drew people's eyes away from his face. The overall averageness of him was finished off with light hazel eyes. At a push from one of the thugs, he stepped forward and pulled out the empty gun they had given him, and pointed at Joe, the night guard. Making his voice gruff, he demanded that Joe open the gate. After which point he walked in, and one of the thugs knocked Joe to the ground, leaving unconscious. They walked to the building, and he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. As they walked in, the scent of all the acids and other chemicals, stored in open top vats to keep flammable fumes from building up inside, struck them like a Mack truck, and one of the thugs gagged. Jack led them up to the office, where they set about cracking the safe. A few minutes later, they stepped out, Tommy holding the bag of money in his hand, and set to heading for the door, Jack actually daring to hope that this would work, when there was a creak from up in the catwalks. Tommy pointed his gun up there, and snarled at Jack, "I thought you said it would be empty at this hour!" Jack swallowed and stammered, his stress sky-rocketing, "I-It should be. I-I mean...I don't..." "Ah, shut up!" Snarled Tommy, and gestured for one of the thugs to head up to check it out. No sooner had the man stepped forward, then a black flash sped through the air and clanged off of his gun, knocking it from his hand. He flinched and grabbed his wrist, and a large, black shadow swooped down and landed on his chest, driving him to the ground. Tommy and the other thug fired their guns, but as quickly as it arrived, the shadow disappeared, leaving the man unconscious on the ground. Fear crawling up his throat, Jack turned and fled. How could it all be going so wrong?

Tommy turned, hearing Jack running, and took off after him. "Get back here, you rat! You sold us out! I'm gonna get you for this!" There was a loud scream from behind him, and he turned to see Mickey, the other thug, lifted off his feet by the shadow. "Oh, shit!" He cursed, and turned to run. He sped around a corner, and ran right into something as hard as a wall. His gun clattered away, and he looked up, and saw the shadow step forward, muscular body, pointed ears, and what looked like great black wings. "Who...Who are you!" He shouted, not expecting a response. "I'm Batman." The shadow said, softly, then reached out and grabbed him.

Jack rounded the corner and found himself up on one of the high catwalks over the acid vats, the fire escape at the far end. He took off running, only to freeze as the shadow descended out of the air and landed ten feet in front of him. In the light from the windows, it was impossible to tell what this thing really looked like, but it was scary as hell. "You're going to jail, Hood." It spoke, and began walking towards him. "N-No!" He screamed, backpedaling. "Y-You don't understand! I'm not a criminal! Really!" He reached up to remove the hood, wanting to prove it, then felt the hem of the cloak snag under his own shoe. It pulled him backwards, off balance, and he tried to straighten up, his arms cart wheeling. His lower back struck the railing of the catwalk, and it acted as pivot point. His last sight before tipping over the edge was the shadow jumping towards him, hand reaching. But it missed.

When he heard that his boss, Laughin' Tommy had been captured and sent to jail to await trial, Tony Foccareli knew what to do. He drove to the house on the west end of Gotham, and stopped. He attached the silencer to the nine millimeter Glock in his glove compartment, then got out and headed up to the houses back porch, where he picked the lock and walked in. He heard voices coming from a door, and slipped down the hall and peaked in. The kid's room. Mom was reading her a bedtime story. It would do. He stepped around the door and fired. Not like in the movies. No quiet little spit. This was real life, and real life was loud. Two deep, dull bangs, like slamming the city phone book down on a wooden table. He walked in and dipped a gloved finger into the blood and stood in front of the wall, then moved the lamp to face it, then left. The message read:

THE JOKES ON YOU JACKIE BOY


	2. Episode 2

EPISODE 2:

INVESTIGATION

Commissioner James Gordon looked around the interior of the Axis Chemicals plant. "What exactly happened here, Lieutenant?" He asked, as Harvey Bullock walked up to him. "Same as all the others, Commish. Giant bat. Demonic shadow. Oooohhhh." He gave a mock shudder, then snorted and looked around. "They ain't sayin' nothin' else, Commish." Gordon looked around again. "They will." Just then they were interrupted by Dispatch, coming in over their radios. "Commissioner? Come in, Jim." He hit the button on his radio. "Go on, Cheryl..." She continued. "You aren't going to like this, Jim...There's been another one." Adrenaline raced as he responded. "Not another? Damnit! When are we gonna catch this guy?"

Across town, in an old alley, Gordon and Bullock walked up and looked down at the body of a professor. Prof. Jerry Heinemann, Professor of Psychology at Gotham University, specializing in multiple personality disorders. His face was pulled into a silent scream of pure, abstract terror. Gordon looked to the M.E., who nodded. "We'll have to wait for the autopsy to be sure, of course, but I'd say he died of heart failure, due to a high spike of adrenaline...In other words, he was, literally, scared to death. Who could do something like this, Commissioner?" Gordon shook his head, not bothering to respond.

Harvey Dent looked up and smiled as Bruce Wayne walked into the restaurant, nearly an hour late, as usual. "What's the excuse this time, Bruce?" Wayne shrugged as he took his seat. "Traffic was murder." Harvey simply shook his head, and finally ordered their appetizers. About an hour later, they were finishing up, and Harvey looked at his friend. "You've been unusually quiet today, Bruce. Something wrong?" Bruce looked up and smiled slowly, as though dragging himself from his thoughts. "Oh, no...nothing. Just a rough night, is all." Harvey nodded, but felt worried for his old friend.

Later that evening, Bruce sat at his chair in front of the fire place, brooding, as was his wont to do. Tonight, however, he brooded over the immediate past, rather than the distant, as usual. "Your refreshment, Sir." Came a voice, cultured and British, and he jumped a little, and looked up to see his Butler standing nearby. "Oh, thank you, Alfred." Alfred Pennyworth sat the tray of sandwiches on a nearby table, then looked at Bruce. "Anything you'd like to talk about, Master Bruce?" Bruce sat still for a long minute, and then breathed deeply. "That criminal last night, Alfred. The Red Hood...He fell, and I...I couldn't stop it. I wasn't fast enough..." Alfred raised his eyebrows. "I understand your wanting to rise above the criminals you hunt, Sir, but surely this was fate, rather than anything you did. Surely someone like him had such a thing coming to them." Bruce nodded slightly, but frowned, remembering the criminal's last words, and wondered.

Rebecca Montfort, Professor of Psychology, specializing in addictions, walked down the street that night, going home, fantasizing about slipping into a warm bath, then heading to her room, and the new video she had ordered to unwind. She was smiling at these thoughts when she suddenly heard a noise behind her, soft footsteps, right in time with her own. She turned, and saw no one. "H...Hello?" She called. "Tell me, Doctor..." Came a gentle, soft voice from behind her, and she yelped and spun, and saw a split second glimpse of what looked like sackcloth, and light blue eyes staring out of it, before it disappeared in a purple haze, and she fell, gagging to the ground. The voice whispered eerily from above her, as terror began clogging her throat. "...What do you fear?" The last thing she saw were eyes of flame, staring out from under the brim of a wide brimmed slouch hat, and she screamed, until she died, then she screamed no more.


	3. Episode 3

EPISODE 3:

THE TRIAL OF LAUGHIN' TOMMY

"Damn..." Gordon muttered, leaning back in his chair, looking at the woman who was the latest victim of "Phobos", as the press was calling him, coining the name of the ancient Greek god of fear. There had been four killings so far, all of them professors at Gotham University, all of them specialists in psychology. But despite the obvious links between victims, they still weren't any closer to catching the killer. He was beginning to doubt that they could...

Across town, in the city Courthouse, Laughin' Tommy stood behind his table, awaiting the final word on his sentence. The judge stepped up behind the bench, and looked to the jury. "How do you find the defendant?" The foreman stood. "Guilty on all charges, Your Honor." The judge nodded, stood, and looked down at Tommy. "Thomas Caberelli. For the crimes of Breaking and Entering, assault, and the intent to burglarize the Axis Chemicals plant, I hereby sentence you to five years in Blackgate Penitentiary." The judge banged the gavel, and Tommy was off to prison. Big deal. He'd been before; this time would be no different.

Late that night, in the alleyway where Montfort had been killed, a figure slips through the shadows. It is the form of the Batman. He steps into the moonlight, revealing a cowl with pointed ears, and deep eyeholes that allow very little of his eyes to be seen. His cape is long, dragging the ground around him. He crouches down over the scene of the murder, and looks about. His keen eyes notice a fine powder residue on the ground, and he bends over and picks some up with the end of a gloved finger, then pulls out a plastic baggie and sprinkles the powder into it. HE looks around, seeing that there is nothing else, and stands, steps back, and disappears into the shadows of the alley.

Later, deep in the bowels of the earth, in the Batcave, Bruce Wayne looks up at the screen, waiting patiently as the computer runs a test on the powder he found. As he sets there, his mind runs back to his childhood, and an old movie theatre. As the movie ended, his parents and he walked out of the building, and decided to take a shortcut through an old alleyway, now known as Crime Alley. As they entered, a figure stepped out of the shadows, armed with a gun, and demanded money...

Bruce was snapped out of his memories as the computer beeped. The message stated that the analysis was complete. He brought up the results and read them. As he figured, it was a concentrated dose of LSD, mixed with something else that the computer could not identify. The killer, Phobos, was literally bringing his victims fears to life, and killing them with their own minds. He sat back and frowned. Who could be doing this? Just then, he was interrupted in his thoughts yet again, this time by the houses security system. Someone had broken in to his bedroom, upstairs...


End file.
